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 his head, ere William was settled as gamekeeper in the forester’s house; and Bertram, who became fonder of him every day, gave his formal consent to his engagement with Catherine. It was, however, agreed that their betrothment should be kept secret until the day of the marksman’s trial, when the forester expected to give a greater degree of splendour to his family festival by the presence of the duke’s commissary. The bridegroom swam in an ocean of delight, and so entirely forgot himself and the whole world in the sweet opening heaven of love, that Bertram frequently insisted, that he had not been able to hit a single mark since he had aimed so successfully at Catherine.

And so it really was. From the day of his happy betrothment, William had encountered nothing but disasters while shooting. At one time his gun missed fire; at another, when he aimed at a deer, he lodged the contents of his rifle in the trunk of a tree: when he came home, and emptied his shooting-pouch, he found, instead of partridges, rooks and crows, and in lieu of hares, dead cats. The forester at length grew seriously angry, and reproved him harshly for his carelessness; even Catherine began to tremble for the success of the master-shot.

William redoubled his diligence, but to no